


Fragmented

by Canisa



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Not really Frerin, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canisa/pseuds/Canisa
Summary: Bilbo's memory was hazy.  He couldn’t remember how he got here.  He couldn’t even properly remember what he ate for breakfast, elevenses, or was it second breakfast?  Oh and that pounding headache.  The headache was driving him crazy.  He couldn’t think.  Everything seemed to blend together and he felt nauseated.  He was doing all he could just so that he would not slip into a panic attack.





	1. Prologue

**\--- Prologue ---**

_ It was much colder than Bilbo had anticipated.  He realized that the moment he hopped down from the caravan.  A gust of cold drift passed him, chasing away all the warmth his body has enjoyed when riding in the cozy enclosure of his gardener’s caravan. _

_ He should have known.  Drakland mountain was at a much higher elevation than the Shire.  Even with the sun rising just above the horizon on this fine late Autumn morning, Bilbo could feel the chill seeping deep into his bones. _

_ “Master Baggins, are you sure you will be all right?” Hamfast Gamgee eyed at a faint patch of gray cloud brewing to the far west with distrust.  “Should I come pick you up later this afternoon?” The gentle garden pleaded. “I don’t mind really. Surely you can pick a better time to look for Foxgloves.” _

_ As much as Bilbo appreciated the thought, he really did not have much of a choice.  Not at the cost of his pride. _

_ What sort of hobbit wouldn’t want a cup of warm tea for keep the chill out?  Which hobbit wouldn’t want to settle into a plush sofa near the hearth for comfort?  _

_ But that blasted Lobelia.  Challenging him as she did at his right of staying at his own Smial.  A smial that was built by his father for his mother. A smial meant for so much for him in memories and loves.  Yet the dreadful woman only see it as a symbol of status. And she dared to think that he, as the head of Baggins at age of 45, couldn’t complete the Harvesting. _

_ She would eat her words.  He was a respectable, capable gentlehobbit.  Thank you very much. _

_ With newly ignited determination, Bilbo rolled his shoulders, feeling the subtle cracks of his bones but choose to ignore it. _

_ Winter came much earlier than expected this year.  And Foxgloves would be hard to harvest once the weather turn deadly cold. If Foxgloves wilts, all its medicinal property from its leaves would be all but gone.   That he could not risk. He had a job to do and duty to perform. With that, Bilbo shook his head. “I can’t risk that. Snow is already here and then we won’t be able to harvest Foxgloves.” He adjusted his camping pack over his right shoulder with determination.  The patch of gray cloud does look a bit worrisome, but it is nothing the hobbit hasn’t experienced before. He had plenty of practice with his mother before she passed the duty of gathering to him. “I will be quite all right.” Bilbo said with ease. _

_ Ever his faithful gardener, Hamfast nodded, if not with a slight hesitation.  His hand reached for his head to scratch the back of his head, a nervous habit Bilbo had observed over the years they have been together not just as employees, but neighbors and old friends.   But this time, Bilbo had to bite down a fond laugh when a confused expression surfaced on Hamfast’s face as the poor gardener abruptly realizing that he was still wearing at hat. Hamfast coughed and then took the hat off as naturally as a dog managed walk through a field of blooming daisies without disturbing any.  He twisted the hat uncomfortably in his hand.  _

_ “I will be fine.”  Bilbo reassured. “Just come by in two days after sun down.   I shall be right here waiting for you.” _

_ “Master Baggins, of course.” Hamfast finally spoke reluctantly.  He twisted the hat for another turn before he finally shook off and placed the hat back on his head.  His eyes downcasted for a brief second before he refocused onto his odd but generous employer/friend. “Please take care of yourselves, Master Baggins.”   _

_ “Like I said, Don’t worry.”  Bilbo smiled as he watched Hamfast climbed back onto the caravan.  With a final nod, Bilbo then turned .. He could see a faint patch of snow ahead on the trail.   It would seem the snow did come down last night enough already. He had very little time to do what he needs to do.  _

_ He adjusted his pack one last time.  With his walking stick, he marched on with measured pace.  This was a trail he was familiar with. He would do what he needs to do. _

_ It wasn’t until miles into the woods, did Bilbo encountered an obstacle. _

_ He should have heard it, the crunching sound of the footsteps against the freshly packed snow. Bilbo had enough experience adventuring with this mother when he were just a young fauntling.  He knew how to sneak up to a beehive, how to listen for the footsteps of wolves and bears. Bilbo would be proud to say that he remembered all of her teachings.  _

_ But reciting the teaching from memory was very different than practicing the teaching. _

_ Especially when he was terribly and complacently occupied.   With a basket of freshly picked Foxgloves leaves laying merely a few feet away, he kneeled down on a familiar trail with his hands comfortably petting the  snow covered ground. He concentrated to look for those elusive foxgloves, now concealed under the pack of snow. While muttering and cursing at the early winter, he searched, hoping to find a glimpse of those faint green leaves poking through the snow pack.   _

_ And because of that, Bilbo did not even have any time to react. When the sharp rock landed solidly on the side of his head with a powerful strike, Bilbo dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut.   _

 

* * *

 

_ The target would  only be a few months of travel away. His treacherous mind supplied.  The guards were distracted. The moon was hidden. It was an opportunity opened to him like no other. _

_ He had been good hadn’t he?  Buried those feeling underneath as long as he could and did whatever others had expected of him. _

_ It would only be a few months… no… he could make haste if he were to travel just himself.   Couple months. Top. He would not invite attention. Just a glimpse and nothing more. _

_ The guards were still distracted.  When he looked closer, he realized he had never seen them before.  They were apparently young, waiting for the shift change. He could tell.  They had never seen battles before. Never knew the danger lurked in the shadow of the trees where the moonlight doesn’t shine through.  The way they handle their swords and axes were quite obvious. He would bet those weapons have never even seen a drop of blood.  _

_ But he knew.  He knew the darkness like no other.   And he wore the mask to cheat others of his true nature. _

_ That was quite telling, wasn’t it.  He had tried. He really did.  _

_ The new shift of guards came.  Also new. Also fresh. Also knew none of the darkness that he had been so intimate with. _

_ So many times, he had woken up to the nightmares and screamed silently so that he would not alert the guards.  It would invite questions.  _

_ And it would not do.   It would not do. But, he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that mask any more. _

_ He needed to stifle that craving, which was chipping him like droplets of water eating away stone. _

_ Drip. Drip. Drip.  He could feel it. His mask was slipping away. No wonder they were bringing more people to monitor him. _

_ The guards were chatting now.  Their eyes were on each other.  The lack of moon invited darkness.  It opened up an opportunity. _

_ He had been good hadn’t he?  It would just be a glimpse and nothing more. _

_ He shut his eyes, letting the voices drift and hang.  So much has been swirling in his head and he did nothing. He breathed steadily in and then steadily out. And when he opened his eyes, his mind was set.  _

_ He acted.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a writer's block on my other story, so I decided to go for a shorter one this time. I would like to finish this story, and hope to have your support. I didn't mean the tone to be so dark for the prologue, but somehow it did. Maybe it would brighten up a bit later when plot become more clear? * hopeful* This story is loosely inspired by a romance novel, Mean Streak, I recently read and enjoyed. I will try to update every weekend.  
> Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 1: Name

\--- Chapter 1: Name ---

Bilbo Baggins came awake gradually without opening his eyes. Instinctively, he knew that if he were to open his eyes, it would make his headache excruciatingly more painful.

No thank you. He has enough trouble managing that constant pain at the back of his head as is.

And suddenly, without warning, Bilbo winced, as he felt a stabbing pain raking through his head sharply with one monstrous broad stroke.

He moaned helplessly.

With his eyes still tightly shut, he gingerly brought his hand to his right temple, but rather than touching his hair as expected, his fingers met cloth instead. Confused, he tried to sit up.

“It is best you stay lied down.”

The foreign accent surprised him. No one in the shire had such a deep voice that seemed to resonate the air in the room with such power.

Bilbo’s eyes flew open. A mosaic of blurry colors flooded his field of vision while the constant pain in his head suddenly materialized into a strong stabbing pain that roared mercilessly in his head. Scalding bile gushed into his throat, threatening to over spill.

Oh no, it would not do. He choked down desperately as it would not do for a gentlehobbit to throw up no matter what the circumstances!

“Stay down.”

The same deep voice commanded again. Bilbo dimly registered but has no energy to retort as a wave of fresh dizziness hit him, shutting his eyes again and thrusting him back down onto the soft pillow.

Bilbo panted heavily until the pain and dizziness finally subsided. The air felt cold as his breath slowed to a more normal pace. Is it winter? Bilbo didn’t have to touch his own cheek to know they were cold. It must be winter. Bilbo could sense he was wearing his favorite long shirt and vest. Suddenly, he was glad he wore clothes for no reasons at all. The room was eerily silent again. Being a bachelor, Bilbo was used to being alone. But right now, the quietness is making Bilbo nervous. Is he imagining voices now?

“Who…” Bilbo swallowed with difficulty. The sound of his own voice shocked him at first. It was so hoarse that it seemed so alien to him. He licked his lips and tried again. “Who… who are you?”

Silence met his inquiry.

He risked opening his eyes again and this time, he braced for the dizziness. When all the swirl of colors finally settled down, Bilbo found him staring at a unrecognizable ceiling. Bilbo was a lone bachelor but he was a respectable and wealthy hobbit and he had been invited into every single smials in the Shire, good or ill intention notwithstanding. But this ceiling… this does not look familiar at all. Is he even in the Shire any more? “Where… “ Bilbo felt a sense of panic rising, but determinedly to not let it slipped into his voice. “Where am I?”

Again, there was nothing but silence.

Perhaps the man had left? Bilbo pressed down his palms on the bed for support, trying to rise again.

“No. Stay down.”

The voice surprised him and broke his concentration. Even worse, dizziness overtook him and Bilbo collapsed on the bed not in the most graceful way. “Who.. who are you and where am I?” He panted. When the man did not answer, Bilbo slowly turned his head to the direction of the voice.

A broad chest thinly concealed by a light tunic filled his field of view..

The thought of who-in-their-right mind-would-wear such-little-clothing-in-such-coldness was quickly distracted by a sudden flex of arm muscles attached to that broad chest..

Oh…

Bilbo could not help himself but cranked his neck and traced up that taut muscle. It was the long black wavy hair with hint of strands of silver and a companion black beard that caught his attention. Definitely not a hobbit then… Not that Bilbo has met any hobbit with such muscular and fit, and….

Oh dear, Banish that thought. Beard. We are talking about beard here.

Yes, beard. Not full beard like the dwarfs he had met at Bree. The dwarf hovering at his bedside had rather short beard that was trimmed close to his chin.

Something unpleasant tugged at the back of his head about the significance of short beard on a dwarf but was quickly ignored when another wave of nausea overcame him.

Before Bilbo could catch his eyes, the dwarf stood up from his sitting position, closing the distance between them.

And Bilbo’s heart pounded as he realize just how large the dwarf was when the shadow of the dwarf cast on him. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, the air squeezing out of his lung without control.

“Stay there…” The word came out a bit sharply than Bilbo had intended. He pushed out his hand instinctively as if that would stop the large dwarf from getting to him. But that was the best he could do as he struggled to catch his breath. “Please...Just… just stay there.”

The dwarf stopped, but didn’t sit back down either.

His memory was hazy. He couldn’t remember how he got here. He couldn’t even properly remember what he ate for breakfast, elevenses, or was it second breakfast? Oh and that pounding headache. The headache was driving him crazy. He couldn’t think. Everything seemed to blend together and he felt nauseated. He was doing all he could just so that he would not slip into a panic attack.

Part of him screamed at him that perhaps here was his savior and admonished him about his rude behaviors. It was clear Bilbo was hurt and this dwarf may have patched him up. The other part of him inconveniently recalled all the horrendous stories and cautionary tales he had heard from the outsiders regarding the dwarfs. There is a reason why hobbits don’t venture outside of Shire.

“What happened?” Bilbo shakily exhaled.

“You don’t remember?”

“No. I…,” he paused, trying to recall. The memory were all twisted together. He blindly grabbing for a clue.. anything... “I was looking for something…” He must be looking for something. A gentlehobbit like him would not have come out in the wild for a walking holiday in a cold day like this.

“Foxgloves.”

“Right.” Bilbo brightened. Of course, the only reason he would out in the winter would be to harvest the leaves of Foxgloves before the plant flowers and loses its medicinal properties. But the excitement lasted just for a second before it dawn on him...

“How did you know?”

“I have been watching you.”

“Watc…”. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that. “Watching me?”

“How is your head?”

Bilbo blinked, caught off guard with a sudden change of topic. His sense of propriety to answer when asked went ahead without thinking. “Hurts. I… I think I have a concussion.”

“I suspect so. I couldn’t wake you.” The dwarf turned away abruptly before Bilbo could follow up with his previous question.

The strange dwarf’s sudden absence made the room seemed larger. It left Bilbo at a loss. But it also gave him a chance to survey his surroundings.

It looks like a hut similar to the structures he had seen in a man’s village. But the hut seemed recently built and customized to the dwarf’s size. It was fairly devoid of any private artifacts. No family drawings nor keepsakes. Just the essentials.  There was a open narrow hallway to the far corner, which probably lead to a kitchen or water closet. In the other corner of the room is a simple writing table with a lit oil lamp and some rolled up parchment and writing tool. Only one empty chair left next to bed, where the dwarf was sitting. Looking further to the other side of the room was a hook which hung his winter waistcoat. And next to that was… was that a sword hanging off the wall? They certainly look sharper and larger than his best pair of kitchen knives...

“Here.”

Bilbo turned hastily at the deep voice. The world seemed to twisted a bit and he fought to stablize himself. Right. He needed to remember he was injured with a head wound.

The dwarf had returned with a cup of liquid in his hand. His face was as closed off as Bilbo’s garden in the winter. “Drink. I couldn’t get any water in you before.”

Bilbo could feel dryness in his mouth. But he eyed at the liquid cautiously. The thought returned to the barely furnished cabin one very sharp looking sword.

One should never accept a drink from a stranger right? What if it were poison? Or… something worse?

“You fear me.” As if reading his mind, the dwarf spoke up flatly. “If I wanted to do something to you, I would have done so hours ago.”

“Well....” _What if you are the type that like to toy with your victims while they are awake??_

Bilbo had the wits to swallow the rest of his sentence before he took the cup. The cup was pleasantly warm. “Right…” Embarrassed at his overly active and not at all helpful imaginations, Bilbo gingerly brought the cup closer to him. He took a small sip carefully, letting it subtly swishing on the tip of his tongue a bit. The water seemed to taste fine. He swallowed. The welcoming warmness soothed his throat. He took another large sip. And then another before he emptied the cup.

“Thank you..” Bilbo smiled and offered the cup back to the dwarf. He watched the dwarf hesitated slightly before he stepped forward.

It was oddly endearing.

Now Bilbo felt even more embarrassed with his earlier behavior. Perhaps he was too judgmental. It would not do to be so rude to his savior. After all, one should never stereotype any race. Oh, Yavanna, did he even thank him for rescuing him yet? Where were his manners? “Um...” Bilbo attempted to express his gratefulness but when trying to recall the dwarf’s name he found himself drawing a blank.

Right. He hasn’t even asked his name yet! “How should I call you? Master Dwarf?”

The dwarf froze.

Bilbo could only gaze up at him with confusion. Should he addressed him as a lord? He looked…. stately enough. Even though there were no lords or kings in the Shire, Bilbo was studious enough to know that the nearby Dwarf settlement in the Blue Mountain has complicated social structures.

A split second and the dwarf seemed to make a decision. He took the cup away but did not reply to Bilbo’s question. There was an unreadable expression on him that made Bilbo uncomfortable and uncertain His lips were pressed tight. Is it anger? Is it sadness?

Or maybe he just didn’t hear him correctly?

“My name is Bilbo Baggins.” He tried again. “And how should I call you?” He made sure their eyes connected.

The blue in the dwarf’s eyes were as clear as the blue sky in the summer. Bilbo noticed. Back in the shire, it was unusual to have that shade of color in the eyes. It made the dwarf looked unique, important… Regale even. Perhaps he was a lord then? Should he ask the question properly again without offending him?

Abruptly, the dwarf turned, starting to walk away. It was clear that he was blatantly ignoring Bilbo.

“Wait!!” Bilbo was confused. “I just want to know your name so I could thank you properly!” His throat throbbed again when he raised his voice. He struggled to get up.

The dwarf stopped. Although he still said nothing, Bilbo could hear a ragged inhalation.

“Look,” Bilbo lowered his voice, trying to appear as calm as possible. “I just want to know your name, please… it will help…..” Help what? How does he explain? There was an uneasy feeling tugging at the back of Bilbo’s mind. If he could just get his name, maybe that feeling will just go away. “It will help me.” Bilbo finished lamely.

He wanted this handsome dwarf to be his savior. But the treacherous mind was telling him otherwise. There was a troublesome elusive memory lurking in the back of his mind yet he could not seem to get a hold of. It was just a feeling. A very unpleasant feeling of its barely formless existence. And that feeling was colliding with the troublesome rumors of dwarfs nature he heard from travelers in Bree.

“You need rest.” It was clear the words were spoken with a powerful restraint.

Taken back, Bilbo stuttered. “I…I...Why...” Bilbo was by far not a timid hobbit. He was 45 years of age and had years, YEARS of experience talking back at anyone who dare to challenge his position in the Shire. He had been surviving by himself ever since his parents had passed away. Had been the head of the Baggins for nearly 10 years and managing the Baggins’ household just fine in the Shire. But then, that was the problem wasn’t it. It was just the Shire. The dwarf in front of him was different. Even with his back to him, the dwarf held himself with a straight posture and commanding voice that Bilbo doubt anyone would have blamed him for tripping over his words like a fauntling.

After a few false starts, finally, Bilbo regained his composure. “I just want to know your name.” Bilbo took a deep breath and enunciated the words clearly this time. Just to add good measures, defiantly, he then asked. “How hard is it for you to tell me your name?” Propriety be damned. To counter his growing fear, Bilbo only become more aggressive. Every word became easier and gave back Bilbo more strength. He felt the rush of his blood and the harsh pounding of his heart so he pressed on. “I know dwarfs are secret by nature. But surely a name is not a difficult thing to be part with for someone you saved.” The last bit was said with a mix of hope and defiance.

The dwarf was silent as a stone and still as a mountain.

“Well?” Undaunted, Bilbo challenged. “Unless you have something to hide.”

The blue in Dwarf’s eyes hardened.

Bilbo bristled at the silent treatment. The stubbornness of dwarves…. “Now, you can’t expect…”

“You don’t need to know.” Dwarf interrupted him flatly, with a tone that clearly broker no room for negotiations.

“Why you… you.. Insufferable…”

“You will rest here.” The dwarf easily talked over him. He picked up the wooden chair by the bed effortlessly as if picking up an apple and carried it back to the writing desk. He settled into the chair with his arms folded across his broad chest and put his feet up on the desk. An indifference settled and found home on his face. “Rest.” He spoke lowly. “I will wake you every two hours.” He paused, as if considering. “I will help you when you need to relieve yourself. For now. Rest.”

“As if I would…” Bilbo felt the tip of his ears warmed… no, make that burned. “No Thank you, Master Dwarf” Bilbo bit out the words. He would kept using the title Master. This insufferably rude dwarf could no way be a lord. “I can manage it myself.” He mustered as much dignity as possible.

A string of harsh foreign words was muttered under breath.

“What did you say?”

“Sleep and rest. Halfling.”

“I am not half of anything.” Bilbo huffed. “I will have you know that I have a name. A proper name and a respectful one at that. And unlike you…” Bilbo wished he could point his finger at the dwarfs with all the indignation he felt. “I, have manners. And there is no way...”

Bilbo was just raising the volume of his voice higher and higher before the headache suddenly roared back like a tidal wave in full force. Bilbo must have cringed, his twisted face reflecting the sudden stabbing pain he was experiencing. He shut his eyes and moaned out uncontrollably. In between the sudden pain and shock, he heard a loud push of chair and then a huge hand was supporting the back of his head. He hadn’t even realized he was falling backwards before the other arm came over and wrapped around his waist to steady him.

The dwarf bellowed a foreign word loudly, but the embrace was warm like a forge. Or at least what Bilbo had imagined what a forge feel or even look like.

Another wave came quickly and the sharp pain seared through his skull. Bilbo could “see” white sparks danced in darkness even when he was clearly squeezing his eyes tight.

“Breath slowly and lie down.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Bilbo panted and could only obeyed.

“Rest. You infuriating halfling. Speak no more. It taxes you.”

“I have a name…” Bilbo heaved laboriously. “You better… you better use…it…” Well, it seems Bilbo could only obey to a point apparently.

Silence again.

“You know…” Bilbo winced. It really did no good to talk any further. But he was furious. The dwarf was testing his patience. “I will not stop until…”

“Bilbo.” The dwarf’s rushed deep voice interrupted Bilbo, if not with a hint of exasperation.

And Bilbo was tempted to open his eyes to see the expression of the dwarf that finally said his name. But although the pain was ebbing, it was still strong enough to keep his eyes shut to the comfort of darkness.

The dwarf spoke again, but in a more quiet and, dare Bilbo think, soothing manner this time. “Rest and speak no more. You need to rest. Master Baggins.”

To hear his name spoken gently from that deep voice made Bilbo smile. A small victory then. The warmth radiated from the dwarf’s body was oddly comforting. He could smell the smoke and the scent of forest and earth on the dwarf. It was a familiar smell. How odd. He always thought dwarfs live in stone mountain. “And your name?” Bilbo asked again as a wave of exhaustion overtook on him. His words may have slurred a bit. But he knew he asked the question nonetheless, even though it might as well bounced against a stone wall.

As expected. Silence, with a hint of rhythmic breathing since the dwarf was so physically close to him now.

Bilbo would have shrugged if he could.

No matter. He had one small victory down. So instead, he automatically, if not shamelessly snuggled even closer to that cocoon of warmth. Hobbits are made to seek comfort after all. He would get his answer from his savior soon enough. None shall stop the persistence of one Bilbo Baggins. Not even the secrecy of dwarfs.

The hobbit was finally quiet and the dwarf smartly did not speak to provoke any further outbursts. He simply sat and held Bilbo. And the hobbit could hear the strong heartbeats of the dwarf. Its constant rhythm lured him to sleep.

And as Bilbo steadily slipped into dreamland, he vaguely felt the hands left his head and his waist. His body shivered to protest the lost of soothing warmth before a heavy blanket covering him as a substitution. Bilbo stayed relaxed. And just before he completely dived into the realm of dreams, he finally heard the much delayed response.

Softly, slowly, but surely.

“Frerin.” The dwarf announced with a whisper. “Frerin at your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to finish chapter 1... here we go...


	3. Chapter 2: Dream

**\--- Chapter 2: Dream---**

Dreams were often funny things. They were sometimes the work of pure imagination or pure nonsensical things. Sometimes, they could be a memory merely enhanced.

Either way, all creatures (well, maybe with the exception of orcs?) dreamt. Some remembered nothing. Some could recall bits and pieces. But some, like Bilbo, had vivid dreams such that he could usually recall every lasting details.

Perhaps that’s how he is a great story teller for the fauntlings.

In his dream right now, it was no exception. It was vivid. It was so vivid he could almost taste the gray sky and gray landscape. Ice, Cold and Quiet.

No, not peaceful quiet like the early morning with the sun rising on the east, gently breaking from the horizon and ridding the world of darkness.

It is a different type of Quiet... that utterly, dreadfully Quiet. One that gripped his heart, squeezed it. Made it hurt. Made it bleed. Made him want to scream.

But the Quiet just swallowed the scream into it bottomless abyss, forcing it down. Down within deep. And that scream just buried and buried and couldn’t come up.

And Bilbo felt the Quiet in the dream. In the blink, he materialized. He was lying on the ground. Supine. Stiff. Unable to move. Pinned to the ground. His eyes wide. His breath ragged. One side of his cheek pressed solidly against frozen ice. Biting cold. Unbearably biting cold.

In the distance were fightings of all different shape. Dark, unidentifiable, different shapes of bodies forced upon each other with unspeakable violence.

But no sound. No sound.

Why was there no sound?

Weapons were clashing. Bodies were falling.

But no sound. No sound.

Why was there no sound?

There was no wind. But cold. Biting cold that sank into his flesh.

He was immobile. He couldn’t do anything. Anything at all. And he screamed and screamed. Until his throat was raw and his tears were flowing.

The weapons were clashing. The bodies were falling. And HE was dying.

But no sound came. No sound came.

Why was there no…

“.... ggins…...Bilbo…. Bilbo!”

Rudely awoken from his dreams, Bilbo blinked his eyes open, he was disoriented. That feeling of dread from the dream remained. And in the moment of weakness, nausea came. “I…”. The hobbit took a deep breath. His shoulder hunched.

“Here.” Someone pushed a tin in front of him.

And the hobbit immediately bent over. His stomach muscle clenched. He could smell it first before he felt the unpleasant taste on his tongue briefly and then he retched all into the tin. And again. And again.

A comforting hand in his back, circling.

But Bilbo could barely paying attention. He only heaved again as nausea came in waves over waves.

It may have lasted a second. It may have lasted an hour. Bilbo couldn’t tell. The world narrowed down to that tin, the hand on his back, and his nausea. When it was finally, finally over, both the offending tin and welcoming hand on his back were removed and a water cup was offered.

Bilbo gratefully received the cool water. One gulp and it soothed his burning throat. “Thank you.” Bilbo looked up and blinked in surprise.

A dwarf. Why was a dwarf here?

When their eyes connected, the said dwarf was stoic. Oddly so.

The confusion lasted a few second before Bilbo suddenly remembered the concussion and the strange dwarf named…

“Frerin?” That was what the dwarf called himself right?

At his recognition, the dwarf, Frerin, seemed to relax.

But Bilbo’s ear burned. He recalled how he fell asleep in his embrace. No matter how comfortable, it was simply improper. As his apology was just at the tip of his tongue, the insufferable dwarf beat him to it.

“Peace.” The voice sounded as good as yesterday. Perhaps warmer. “Are you feeling better?”

“I… I think so.” The pain was certainly not as bad.

“Good. I didn’t wake you as you were muttering through the night.” Frerin explained. “I had hope I made the right choice.”

Bilbo blinked at the amount of words that came out of Frerin’s mouth. The hobbit supposed that the dwarf was getting used to him. Compared to last night, the dwarf barely answered any of his questions... Asking for his name was akin to pulling his teeth…

“So… your name is Frerin? Are you from the Blue Mountain?”

The dwarf looked at him, considering briefly before responded quietly. “Yes.”

Bilbo waited and then realized that the dwarf would not offer more information. He sighed. Sometimes, he wondered about the infamous secrecy of a dwarf. Thankfully, all hobbits were trained to make small talks. Bilbo tried a different angle. “I have heard dwarf can live hundreds of years. Is that true?”

Frerin inclined his head. “I am one hundred and seventy five years old.”

Bilbo widened his eyes. He did not expect that. “Well, I can’t even…. I can’t even comprehend that. What’s that like? I… I am only 45 years of age and that is considered middle aged…”

Frerin looked surprised, but did not comment.

Bilbo twisted the hem of his shirt uncomfortably. “Are you considered old then?”

Frerin shook his head. “My grandfather lived to be 300.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, then we are about the same maturity then.”

Frerin said nothing.

Bilbo supposed that he would just have to try harder.

“Why do you live here?” Bilbo looked around the cabin. “I had thought dwarf prefer deep in the mountain?” Just as he observed yesterday, there were not a single personal items decorating the sparse living space.

The dwarf was silent again.

“Do you smith for the men in Bree? How odd that I have not seen you around.” Bilbo was trying really hard to make conversation now. “I remember my mother had taken me to Bree many years back to see a dwarf smith to mend her favorite copper pot. The dwarf did wonders. She was so happy. It was a souvenir she picked up from her travel with a wizard. She was…”

“Do you know of this wizard’s name?”

“She was so sure… what?” Bilbo blinked at the interruption. “The wizard?”

The dwarf nodded. His expression was suddenly intense. “The wizard. What is his name?”

“I… Well, I haven’t seen that old bone since I was a fauntling.” Bilbo tilted his head. “Gandalf is his name I think. He made such excellent fireworks. The last time was probably 20-30 years ago. My mother often told me stories of him. Adventures. Nasty business. I prefer his fireworks. Like flowers in the sky. My father was most delighted that Gandalf hasn’t come around to take my mother away...”

“You have not met him.”

“What?”

The dwarf closed off his expression before Bilbo could catch on.

“Why do you ask of the wizard?”

Dwarf paused again. Bilbo was beginning to think perhaps this dwarf was exceptionally slow. Frerin then started carefully. “I knew of a wizard and simply want to know if they were the same person.”

“Well.” Bilbo huffed. “Gandalf goes by many names. He wears gray robe with a pointy hat. White long beard. The wizard is as elusive as a leave in the wind. Always wondering about.”

Frerin smiled. “Yes he is. Meddling too.”

“Meddling.” Bilbo smiled back in agreement, refusing to notice how… how handsome and attractive it made the dwarf looked. There was a tuck on his heart that Bilbo desperately tried to push down.

A comfortable silence blanketed the room for a brief moment as both were lost in memories.

“You have to take me down the mountain.” Bilbo massaged his temple, trying to ease the last trace of headache away. “People in the Shire would talk if I don’t return back soon.”

The dwarf blinked. There was an unreadable expression on his face before he shook his head. “You are in no condition to go anywhere.”

“What…” Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “I am not an invalid. You don’t understand. I have to leave here.” Recalling Hamfast dropping him off to harvest Foxgloves, Bilbo was afraid that he already missed the meeting time with him. Knowing his faithful gardener, he would have alerted the whole Shire of his disappearance. It would not do to disturb everyone.

The dwarf looked out the window before he returned his gaze back to Bilbo. “It is starting to sleet. Travel would be unwise.”

Bilbo looked out. And as the dwarf had declared. The snowflakes seemed bigger now and the entire view was covered in white.

“Well…with your help….” Bilbo tried not to think of the large broad shoulder and muscular arms. “If… if you are willing to …. perhaps....” Bilbo was trying hard not to blush at the thought of himself being carried in the dwarf’s arms.

Averting his eyes, Frerin shook his head again.

Bilbo tried not to let his disappointment shown on his face. It would not do to appear ungrateful.

Oh, What he would give to a warm bath...

And suddenly, Bilbo was aware of how…. how uncivilized he may have looked. He just woke up from a nightmare. He threw up in front of this handsome dwarf for Yavanna’s sake! Even if he didn’t manage to get anything on him, he felt a desperate need to clean himself. Since he couldn’t go anywhere, perhaps he could at least clean himself up for it.

“Do you…”. Bilbo cleared his throat. “Are you okay with me taking a bath? I must have smelled horribly.” He ignored an irrational feeling of shyness. But the thought of taking a shower in a handsome stranger’s cabin was just a bit…. Tookish.

The dwarf nodded as he stood up, seemingly unaffected by the bold request. Perhaps dwarf culture just different. “I can draw some water.” He paused and pointed to the closet next to bed. “Linen and towel are in there should you require one.”

“That would be heavenly.” Bilbo gave a grateful smile as he watched the dwarf walked out of the bedroom to prepare his bath.

Bilbo breathed out and gingerly stepped out of the bed. After testing a few steps and proving that he could walk without tumbling over, he then proceeded the closet and pulled out a cream colored towel.

The towel felt soft. There was a faint flowery smell that was oddly familiar to Bilbo.

Getting bored of waiting for Frerin, Bilbo surveyed the state of his clothes. Bilbo was grateful that it wouldn’t require much work to get it clean again. Still, he could see some blood stain on his clothes. He wrinkled his nose. He may need to borrow some clothes from the dwarf in the mean time… if he is all right with him pulling out a towel, surely a shirt wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to ask?

At the thought of that, Bilbo felt the tips of his ears warmed. He berated himself silently for acting like a bloody teenager for a few second before succumbing to the idea.

“Frerin?” The hobbit called out. But the dwarf did not answer. The hobbit tried agai . “Frerin, do you mind if I borrow you shirt too? Frerin?”

The sound of the water must have washed out his voice, as the dwarf still did not respond. Bilbo would prefer not to yell much louder in fear of invoking another headaches.

Better to act first and then ask for forgiveness later then.

Bilbo decided.

He wandered over to the drawers and opened the top one.

Bilbo was mildly surprised.

The color of the clothing was more colorful than he would have imagined for a dwarf like Frerin. There were burgundy and lilac. Like flowers in the field.

Bilbo shook his head and laughed quietly. It was true to never judge a book by its cover. Who knew a brooding dwarf would wear these hobbitish color?

Bilbo picked the burgundy colored shirt up and was confronted by another surprise. The shirt was not as big as he thought it would be. In fact, it looked like exactly his size…

Bilbo clenched the cloth in his hand and looked around. The cabin was bare with just the essentials. He looked from one corner to another and landed his sight on the writing table. There were rolled up parchment on the table.

Taking in a deep breath, Bilbo walked over. He ignored the fact that the writing tool had suspiciously looking like ones he would have possessed. He felt his heart raced as his fingers reached the rolled parchment.

He unrolled the paper.

When the familiar handwriting was presented in front of him, he inhaled sharply.

It was his own handwriting. The nice loop around “a”s and the slanted way he signed his ‘t”’s…. this was his own handwriting.

Bilbo stumbled backward.

It suddenly occurred to him that all these were his.

The towel with flowery smell, parchment, the writing tool, the colorful clothes.

He lived here. He has been living here.

Why would he…. What happened to Bag End? The house built by his father. The house full of memory of his mother. What happened to his home?

He frantically looked around the cabin. Bare. Gray. Impersonal. Not a single painting. Not a single flower. Not a single personal touch. Probably not even a garden.

He lived here? How? There was no way he would call this home. And then suddenly, he remembered what was so significant about a short beard.

A dwarf of short beard is a show of shame. A dishonor. A dwarf of short beard are often banished.

_Why do you live here?_

Bilbo has asked the question hadn’t he? And the dwarf did not say anything.

Criminal. Is the dwarf a banished criminal?

Oh no. Oh no.

His heart pounded.

Oh no. Oh no. What did he get himself into?

He looked around again.

Prison. Is this a prison? Has he been held here against his will by the dwarf as a prisoner?

“Master Baggins?”

Bilbo twirled around. Frightened. Caged like an animal. He folded into himself. The headaches returned.

It pounded like loud drumbeats in his head.

Bilbo has asked to leave but the dwarf hadn’t allowed him to leave the cabin.

“Are you all right, Master Baggins?” The dwarf advanced.

Suddenly, there was no sound except the loud footsteps of the dwarf as he got closer to him.

The dread. The quiet dread of his dream was coming back at him.

He could rememeber it vividly.

That feeling. That sense of dread. It swallowed him.

“Don’t… don’t come closer!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping up with schedule so far... :)


	4. Chapter 3: Pursue

**\--- Chapter 3: Pursue ---**

//Few Months ago //

It was not Dwalin’s day at all.  Not by a mile. The head of royal guard was not having a good day at all.

“He was gone?”  His dear older brother, Balin, asked mildly.

The question was so suspiciously worry-free that Dwalin would not dignified with even a word.  He eyed at his brother with a stern face that intimidated everyone except his closest kins.

Undeterred by Dwalin’s silence, Balin only smiled.  “It’s about time.” His hand habitually smoothed out his white beard.

“You planned this.”   Said Dwalin resentfully.  How could he be such a fool to let his older brother talked him into visiting Dain in Iron Hills for a fucking joint training exercise.  And of course, Balin had convinced him to take **_all_ ** experienced warriors with him in order to impress upon the prowess of Erebor.  

“I have planned many opportunities.  And this...” Balin rose and walked around the long table in the dining hall to stand in front of his brother.   “This is the first time he took the chance.”

“Couldn’t you just tell him to go openly.  And at least send an armory to protect him?”   Dwalin could barely retrain his words. “He is the king for Mahal’s sake.”

While Balin made a show of sighing, Dwalin was doing everything he could to not strangle his scheming brother in front of the company.  “As if he would listen to any of us, brother.” Balin sighed again. “Thorin thinks he would be wasting the needed resources to restore Erebor.  The path to the Shire is well traveled because of the trade agreements. Many scheduled caravans go between Erebor and Ered Lindon. It would be much easier for him to cross the land by himself, than to have you trailing behind him like a blood thirsting warg.”  Balin’s eyes twinkled in a way that Dwalin never understood.

Dwalin pointedly ignore the comment comparing him to Warg.

Oh he understood the progress Balin spoke of.  Three years after taking back Erebor from that drake, the dwarfs have steadily returned.   After Thorin has come to his senses, the men were given what they were promised and the elves ….  well, with Thorin at least giving the elf king a bare minimum of respect as a King to another King, the rest of the dwarfs followed suit and so the elves were mostly tolerated.  And because of that, by working side by side with men and elves, the mountain was almost restored to its previous glory at an impressive speed. As the once mighty kingdom Erebor flourished, the route between Erebor and its allies was so frequently traveled that its safety was not often questioned.

But then, we are talking about a King here.

A King of the richest kingdom traveling alone on a route that extended hundreds of miles.

A King who, although wise, has been sick at heart because his One has not returned to him.

A King who still harbors guilt like a dragon hoarding gold.

Dwalin did not like it one bit.

Without words, Dwalin picked up the travel pack which he dropped soundly at the dining hall table when he arrived earlier.  He then turned to face the rest of the company. His axes faithfully rested behind his back.

“You sure Thorin is heading to the Shire?”

Balin nodded.  “I had a few ravens following him.”  He smiled cryptically. “The last report I heard from one of the ravens was that he was moving quite fast and steadily toward Shire.”

Dwalin snorted.  If Balin thinks that precaution would get back to his grace, his brother is sorely mistaken.

With his suspicion of the whereabouts of his king confirmed, it was now time to act.

“So we go?”  Nori asked from the entrance of the dining hall, looking as detached as a master of spy should be.  He leaned against the door with ease and watched the scene unfolding in front of him with apparent boredom.

“What kind of spy are you if you can’t even figure out that our King had...”  Dwalin snapped his jaws tight. He wasn’t sure how he could finish that sentence. He didn’t even know what word to use.  Words were not his forte.

“Gone for a well deserved vacation?”  Ori helpfully supplied the missing words.  The head of the royal library stood meekly behind his mentor Balin like a shadow, but he spoke with much more confidence lately.

“Does Dis know?”  Bofur piped up cheerfully.  The head of miner guild’s sunny disposition never really sit well with Dwalin.

“Why do you think the princess is seating with her sons in the mass hall right now receiving dignitaries?”  Oin shook his head with what could be perceived as an disapproval from an knowledgeable elderly to a novice.

Bofur gave a happy wink.  “Of course. She is here, so he can sneak away.”  

“Watch your tongue.”  Dwalin flatly put that to rest as he turned to Bofur.  “Be careful of how you speak of our king. A King does not _sneak_ away like a coward.”  The words were carefully delivered in suppressed anger.

Oin the old royal court physician merely waved a hand at Dwalin to dismiss him while Bofur blatantly ignored the warning.  The miner turned to Ori.

“Wonderful and Brilliantly said, Ori.”  Bofur cheered. “Now. Let’s all go for a well deserved vacation!  Bilbo did say tea at 4. Thorin was only a month ahead of us. I am sure he would have settled things neatly by the time we get there and...”  Bofur eyed at his brother, Bifur, who did a lewd gestures to say the unsaid. “... and that.” Bofur’s mouth spreaded wide into a grin.

“You are talking about our King?  The one who brooded and did nothing but perched on the battlement looking to the west when he thought no one is looking?  Who couldn’t even write a letter let alone use his words?” Gloin laughed. “I am putting up a betting pool. Who is in?”

“Can’t you wait an hour or two before departing?  I will need to prep some spices and food supply.” Bombur quickly chimed in, trying to divert the conversation before it descended into total chaos.  Judging by the stormy look on Dwalin’s face, the trajectory of that conversation was not a good idea at all. Not at all.

“You lot have work to do.”  Dwalin straightened and reminded them darkly.  He did not spare any glance back to see the crestfallen expressions as he walked determinedly forward to reach the door.  Before he crossed the threshold, he looked at Dori pointedly, who as always stood quietly and politely to the side of the room.  “You get everything done before we are back and get the rest of the company in control. Nori and Ori, you come with me.”

Dori nodded amicably.  “Of course, Dwalin.”

Dwalin walked out of the door with purpose.

“Oh sure.   Why don’t you go fuc…”  Bofur called after him.

The miner’s voice faded abruptly as the guards shut the doors.  He has more important things to deal with.

Like a whirlwind, Dwalin, Nori, and Ori passed through twisting corridors before they arrived at the royal mass hall.  He caught Dis's attention, who sat on top of the throne in place of Thorin: an unspoken understandings was reached as Dis gave a knowing smirk.  With a quick nod, he left, while blatantly ignoring the wide and pleading eyes of Kili and Fili, both of whom were trapped in their regale clothing sitting prettily next to their mother, unable to follow him as there were important guests around.  

Like he is going to have them tag along.  One rogue King is enough. He doesn’t need two uncontrollable puppies to following him around.

That was probably the only ups in this whole situation.   Dwalin did not miss that there were no surprises registered on the Princess’ face.  Apparently, everyone knew of his brother’s scheme to get Thorin to chase after his One.  It only accentuated the shame that he had let his brother manipulating him into leaving his King alone, when Thorin’s emotion was at the lowest.

Dwalin was done with his brother manipulating him.

With fervor, Dwalin arrived at the stable and ordered, if not barked at the guard to prepare them the sturdiest goats for the travel.  

He dispatched Nori to prepare for the rest of their travel gear.   He and Ori then poured over a map, so that they could plot out what cities to stop by in order to replenish their supplies and swap out their rides to get the best efficiency.

As Ori confidently point out locations on the map and spoke at length about the short cuts and road conditions (though still with meek voice), Dwalin started to feel better about this whole situation.  

_Thorin was only one month ahead of them.  They would travel night and day to shorten their distances.  That should arrive the Shire not too much later than Thorin._

Nori showed up not an hour later, armed with supplies.  “All figure out?” He asked mildly.

Dwalin waved his hand and the guards stepped up and helped strapping the supplies to the goats.

“Here is the route we are going to take.”  Ori smiled brightly at his brother. “Bofur recently just led a group to dig a tunnel through here.”  He pointed on the map helpfully. “This should cut down some of our time to catch up. I doubt Thorin knew about this.”

“His sense of direction is crap.”  Nori snickered. “Even if he knows about the tunnel, we will still catch up with him.  With our luck, he would be circling Bree or Shire for days if not weeks.”

“You think Thorin will still get lost finding Bilbo’s smial?”  Ori was wide eyed.

“We head out now.”  Dwalin ordered, effectively stopping the conversation.  With a fluid motion, he gripped onto one horn and swung himself up the goat effortlessly.

With his smirk still plastered on his face, Nori mounted his ride with equal effortlessness.  

Ori nodded in understanding quietly.  He carefully and gently got up to his goat.  He reached down slightly and petted the goat’s solid body with affection.  “Of course, Dwalin. Our mission is important.”

Satisfied, Dwalin then barked  out an order to the guards at the gate

The massive door of Erebor opened and the three of them tore out of the gate with a great sense of urgency.  The goats kicked up dust as the three of them set out under the bright morning sun of a autumn day.

It was not until Dwalin riding for half of a day toward the west did he spotted a pair of ravens in the sky following them.  

And then the royal guard realized one fact: his brother didn’t say a word at all to stop him.

Dwalin cursed to hell and back.

His brother was an old schemer through and through.

If he hurried, he could get the King and possibly his Consort-to-be (if Thorin knows how to use his words that is) before winter well settle in.  By the time they return back to Erebor, it would be late Spring. Just the right time for the bloody flowers to bloom, birds to sing, and the right time for a fabulous, most wonderful, enchanting (all Bofur’s words) wedding fitting to a hobbit’s tradition (if Ori’s research is correct.)

And that was assuming that Thorin was doing everything right...

At that thought, Dwalin blinked and did a mental assessment of everything that he knew of Thorin.  

“Fuck!”

“Dwalin, did you forget something?”  Ori, as always, tried to be helpful. “I have packed extras of everything.  We will catch up with Thorin in no time.”

“Don’t worry, little brother.”  Nori smirked soundly behind him.  “Dwalin the slow poke here has just realized he had been played by Balin.”

“Fuck!”  

This was Thorin.  Of course. What could go wrong?

“It will be fine.  Bilbo loves him. He already forgives Thorin.  You’ll see.”

Unlike Ori offering comforting words; Nori just laughed.

Dwalin resisted the urge to slam his head into a rock.

It was not Dwalin’s day at all.  Not by a mile. Not by a fucking hundreds of miles to the Shire.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh.. this was updated late because I couldn't get the tone right. Too happy. Too dark. Too comical. I kept fixing it, changing it and it just wouldn't listen. this is the final version I am going with... I am hoping this is okay... I tried...


	5. Chapter 4: Misunderstanding

**——- chapter 4:  Misunderstanding ——**

Bilbo fought with all he could possible think about.

He clawed.  He kicked.  He bit.

But the dwarf was strong.  

The dwarf was impossibly strong.   His muscular arms encircled him, pinning his arms against his sides, lifting his body up so his feet were dangling un-respectfully in the air.  Under a different circumstances, he would have blushed all the way to his pointy ears to be handled in such a way. But not now.

Now he fought tooth and nail like his life depended on it.

Bilbo used every opportunity to kick the dwarf.  But the dwarf was like a mountain. There wasn’t even pain registered on his infuriating face!

“Bilbo, Calm down.”  

Frerin… no, the dwarf’s voice was deep and almost soothing.  But Bilbo was having none of that. “Get your filthy hands off me!”  Bilbo snarled. The headache crept back but the hobbit did his best to ignore it.  

“You are going to hurt yourself.”

“The only person hurting me is you!  Get your hands off me!”  

“I will let you go if you promise to stay and listen to me quietly.”

“Like that’s going to happen!  You think I am a 10 year old fauntling?”

“Listen!   Will you please listen to me, halfling?”

“Put me down!”  Bilbo gritted. “Put me down, you dishonorable dwarf!  How dare you touch me!”

The dwarf inhaled sharply.  He lowered his arms and let go.

One second Bilbo was fighting like a cornered cat, the next second he was dropped on the floor like a sack of potatoes.  As soon as Bilbo landed on the ground, he scrammed away to the corner, as far away from the dwarf as possible.  

The dwarf stepped a few steps before he reached his chair and fell heavily into it.  His eyes down casted. “No.. you are right.” He heaved. “I lack honor… I don’t… no.. you are right.  I should never.. I can never touch you.”

Bilbo willed his pounding heart to slow.  He needed to think. The dwarf in front of him seemed to be dangerous and unstable.  Bilbo needed something to shield himself from him. The halfling’s eyes darted frantically around before landed on the sword on the wall merely a few feet from him.   Yes. Yes. A sword would be good. He needed protection. As large and as heavy as that sword looked, it would just be like a large kitchen knife. Right. He had no problem with kitchen knives.  Pointy end goes into the soft squishy parts. He could do this.

Bilbo slowly inched towards it, his eyes never taken off the dwarf who now had his head down, completely unaware of his intention.  It felt like forever, but when Bilbo reached his destination, his hand immediately snatched the sword.

It was heavy, so unexpectedly heavy Bilbo lost grip as soon as he got the sword off the wall.

The sword clunkily dropped on the floor.  Bilbo held his breath. He prepared for the worst.

To his surprise, the dwarf merely lifted his eyes up, seeing but without care.  

Not wasting the opportunity, Bilbo quickly picked up the sword, pointing shakily at the dwarf. It took all his power to just lifting the tip of sword slightly above his grip.  “Stay away from me!” He warned.

“I just…”  The dwarf shifted his eyes down again.  He spoke almost to himself. “I want to see… I want to make sure you are okay, that you are… happy.”

Bilbo’s breathing slowly evened.  The dwarf made no sense, but he also made no moves.  It seemed like the dwarf knew him, but He did not remember his past with him.  Just images. Random images presented like a randomly shuffled deck of cards.

Even sitting down, the dwarf cast a long shadow on the floor.  He seemed larger. He was intimidating. But he did stop advancing toward Bilbo.

That is a good sign right?

Cautiously,  Bilbo dropped the tip of the sword slightly, as his arms were shaking from fatigue.   

“All right…”   Bilbo took a deep breath, while frantically trying to sort through this mess.  “Where… where am I?” 

The dwarf’s eyes were still downcast when he answered quietly.  “Drakland mountain.”

That… that is good.... He knows Drakland mountain.  He had been harvesting foxgloves all his life on this mountain.   At once, Bilbo felt slightly relieved. He was almost afraid that he was kidnapped miles and miles away from Shire.   Drakland mountain is just short travel on caravan. Though… this cabin was unfamiliar to him. How did one build a cabin without his notice?

“This… this cabin… “  Bilbo took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions while remembering the shock when he found his clothing in the cabin.  “Why do I live here?” _What happen to Bag-End?_

The dwarf looked up abruptly, darkened.  There was a flash of menacing anger before a forced neutral expression settled on his face.   It was a few seconds before the dwarf was able to explain. “You were banished from your home.”

“I… I was banished?”  _From the Shire?  How was that possible?_

“It was my fault.”  The dwarf nodded and hung his head again.  “You left your home to help me… my people. But when you returned, your family deemed you dead and took your home from you.”

“Help.. you people?”

The dwarf looked at him with an unreadable expression.  “I employed you to reclaim the mountain from a dragon.”

“What?  Why would you hire a hobbit?”  Bilbo was bewildered.

“You truly don’t remember?”

He wrinkled his nose.  “No, I don’t…” There were images.  Jarring images. “I don’t remember you.  ..” _Don’t panic.  Don’t panic…._

There were gaps in his memory.  He was forgetting something important.

“You did a great deed for my people.  Master Baggins.” The dwarf was now looking at him. His eyes intense.  

Could he trust him?

“All right.. All right”    _Don’t panic.  Don’t panic…_   “How did I get hurt?”  Bilbo asked, trying to remain as calm as possible.  “How did you find me?”  

The dwarf quieted, as if to gauge him.  For what Bilbo couldn’t quite figure out yet.  His blue eyes searched him for a few seconds. The gaze was heavy but he finally relented.

”I was hunting when I found you already injured, collapsed on the side.”  The dwarf spoke slowly, never taken his attention off Bilbo. The intensity of his gaze seemed to bore a hole into him.  “I brought you back here else you would not have survived the cold.”

That made sense, but...

“But you said I was collecting Foxgloves.  You said… you said you...” _were watching me…._

Bilbo swallowed the rest of his sentence.  He wasn’t sure if he should push… or how to push…   The trust between them was still not there yet. Bilbo did not understand the intention of this dwarf.  Dwarf are supposed to be greedy. Dwarf are supposed to be unfriendly. He had short beard...

“I saw you harvesting foxgloves the day before in the forest.”  The dwarf paused, but continued to train his eyes on him. Searching again.  “I recognized you when I found you collapsed.”

Something didn’t quite add up.  Bilbo looked around the cabin. There was only one single bed.  “Where do you live? Do you live around here?”

There was a flash of unreadable expression again.  The dwarf dipped his head, averting his eyes. “I camped nearby.”

“In this weather?”

“Dwarf can endure more than this.”

“But I know you.”

He nodded.

“So why would you not stop by for tea?”  This was nonsense. Has his respectability all went out of the window?  What kind of host would he be to let his guest camp in the cold? Even if there is only one bed, Bilbo was sure his living room would be more preferable than the outdoors.

The dwarf was silent.  Finally he spoke slowly.  “Perhaps we should wait for your memory to return.”

“What happen if it never return?”  Bilbo was trying to keep his hysteria under control.  “You need to explain to me exactly what happened!” He lost his Bag-End.  He was living in the mountain. Apparently he befriended a dwarf enough to venture out of the Shire and help his family?  “Who are you to me?”

“I…”. The dwarf took a deep breathe.  “We are…..”. He stopped, seemingly to search for the right words before a resolution was formed.  “I view you as a friend.”

Bilbo felt the uncomfortable tuck in his heart.  “And how do I view you?”

The dwarf lowered his eyes.  “I don’t know.” He confessed with the simple words that make the hobbit’s heart ached for no reasons.

Exhausted, Bilbo looked out the window.  The sun is up. Large snowflakes were falling steadily from the gray sky.  It was white and peaceful. 

Bilbo felt anything but. 

He tried hard to remember.  Nothing came through.

“Is your name truly Frerin?”  Bilbo looked back at the dwarf.

There was a hesitation.  Just as Bilbo feared that he would not get any truth from the dwarf, the blasted dwarf whispered “... no…”

Bilbo’s was close to be hysterical.  The information was overloading him.   “What, Why would you….”. Bilbo stopped.  Exhaled and started again. “All right then.   What is your name? Properly introduce yourself this time.”

The dwarf flinched, as if Bilbo had physically struck him.

“Well?”  Bilbo’s voice was close to the screech of an eagle.  

The dwarf lowered his head.   “Thorin…” he sighed in resignation.  

Bilbo tested the name, still nothing comes to mind.

“Ok.  Thorin.”  Even as Bilbo emphasized on the "T" with much force, he still tried very hard to contain the anger.  “You are not from the Blue Mountain, are you?”

“I…no.  I am not.”

“Where are you from?”

The dwarf hesitated.  “Erebor.”

It sounded familiar.  But Bilbo couldn’t be sure.  He knew a lot about elves but the dwarfs were secretive.  “Is it… is it further than Bree or Rivendell?”

“Months if traveled by foot.”

Bilbo was surprised.  “And I traveled months with you to help you claim your home?”   He never traveled further than Rivendell! “I wouldn’t even be able to pack enough handkerchiefs for the trip!”

An awkward silence blanketed the room as Bilbo felt his ears warmed.  Just moments ago, he was fighting tooth and nail with this dwarf!!! And now they were chatting about handkerchiefs!

Thorin blinked.. And then he suddenly chuckled. 

“What!”  Overcame by the momentarily surprise, Bilbo snapped.  

“I meant no harm.”  Thorin apologized. His blue eyes locked with him.   They were as clear as the sky in a warm summer day. “You packed none.”

“None!?”  Bilbo crossed his arms in irritation.  _The nerve of this dwarf!  A gentlehobbit like him would never be caught dead without a handkerchief!_ “You sir, must be mistaken!”  He wagged his finger at the dwarf with emphasis.  “I never go without a handkerchief!”

Instead of getting mad at Bilbo, the dwarf unexpectedly displayed a soft curve of smile hidden just underneath his beard.

It was like a sun just poking out after an afternoon storm.

“You were in a hurry to catch up with us.”   The dwarf explained softly.

He felt warm.   And then he panicked.  “Well!” Bilbo coughed.  “No matter. You have gotten the wrong hobbit.  We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures.  Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!  You want the adventure type? You might try over The Hill or across The Water!”

Another chuckle.  The deep sound seemed to resonant with his soul.  “Aye. At first, I thought you were plain, simple, and soft creature.  I did not think you could survive the wild.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”  Bilbo narrowed his eyes. Resonant or not, perhaps he should pick up his sword again to teach this dwarf a lesson.

“But I was wrong.”

Bilbo blinked.

“You were brave at every turn.  A child of the kindly west…with some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.  You saved me… from myself…. You helped us, completed a quest that no one thought was possible.” 

Thorin’s words were as intense and sincerely as his eyes.  Bilbo felt his heart skipped a full beat.

Bilbo coughed again.  And he might have wrinkled his nose out of habit.  

The dwarf was handsome, with straight nose and mesmerizing eyes.  Oh...Yavanna forbid, he was exactly his type. “Well.” Bilbo wrinkled his nose again.  He really should try to cut that habit. He must have looked silly to the dwarf. “I guess… I never thanked you for saving me.”

“I am glad I was there.”  

_It was all a big misunderstanding..._

Bilbo took a cautious step, and then another step toward the dwarf.  The intricate silvery beads in his black streaked with silver hair fascinated him.  They shin prettily under the light. He took another brave step closer to where the dwarf sat.  “I…” Bilbo took a deep breath. “I do not remember you…” He prayed he didn’t read him wrong. “Do you truly only see me only as a friend?”

Thorin looked up at him with an impossible hunger and longing that took Bilbo’s breath away.

Taking courage, Bilbo took another step closer.  So close that he could feel the heat emanated from the dwarf.  So close that his face was only few hairs distance away from Thorin’s forehead.  Bilbo licked his lips. “Then… Help me…” Bilbo whispered. “Help me remember you.”

At that, Thorin surged up.  

Bilbo felt the lips pressed upon his before he heard the chair clattered on the floor.   The pressure of the kiss knocked him backward, but Thorin caught him easily. One of his arms circled around Bilbo’s waist, while the other gently cradled his head.  

Oh, there was hunger behind the kiss.  It demands and commands all of Bilbo’s attention. Firm and warm.  Wet and tasty like wine.

Bilbo shivered, for every part of his whole body was vibrating with pleasure.   He pressed himself closer to the dwarf and put his arms around him.

When they finally break for air, Bilbo was staring into Thorin’s eyes with the silliest smile on his face.  “I am so sorry.”

“Never apologize.”  Thorin panted, his eyes hooded with desire.  “Not for this.”

Bilbo was immensely pleased.  “You don’t even know what I am trying to apologize for.”  Bilbo gave a coy smile. “I don’t think the kiss was helping… my memory that is.”   Bilbo backed away a step, toward the bed. “Perhaps we should try something a bit more… intense.”

Bilbo would have laughed at the dwarf stumbling as he moved toward him, had he not seen streak of blood running down the dwarf’s right hand.

“You are hurt!!”  Bilbo rushed up and gently peel away the tattered sleeves.  To his horror, he saw three long scratch marks running down the arm.

“No matter.”  Thorin caught him easily and pressed a quick kiss on his lips.  “Just minor scratches. I will live.”

“No, wait.”  Bilbo twisted away.  “I did this, didn’t I?  When I clawed you just now.”

“You have done worst before.”  Thorin tried to press another kiss but Bilbo easily dodged.

“I need to find you some clean gauze and herbs.”  Bilbo looked around the small room. His memory was not back yet, but he knew where he would have put his herbs.  Somewhere cool and dry… Away from the fire and water closet.

 _Ah there_.

“Wait here.”  Bilbo briskly walked over to a small closet at the far end of the corner.  

He opened the door.

“Bilbo, no wait!”

But it was too late.   The door was opened. Bilbo saw his shelves full of jars of  drying herbs. But there was something else…an unexpected lump of something on the floor.  So he stared. His brain simply could not compute what he was seeing.

“I can explain.”

Thorin’s voice seemed very far away.  It was as if all of Bilbo’s thought process now centered on this one impossible thing that he was now staring at.

“Bilbo, let me explain.”  

The pleading was not registering his brain at all.

Because…that lump was....There was a … There was a body in his closet.   The body, dressed in a familiar flower print of a dress, was sitting on the floor with its head lulled to the side.  Long curly brown cascading down half of its face. The other half of its.. no.. her face was marred by crimson red.

The body was so still.

It was surreal.

“Bilbo, please.  Listen to me.”

_Lobedia... Lobedia Sackville-Baggins_

Bilbo held his breath. 

_Lobedia’s body was in his closet._

Bilbo slowly turned toward Thorin, his eyes wide.  Pain surged and pulsated in his head, getting stronger and getting louder.

“Bilbo… You have to listen carefully.  I did struck her, but only because she….”

Bilbo blinked.  And all of the sudden, he felt a rush of air filled his lungs.  The reality of the situation seems to crashed into him full force.

_He struck her… He struck her…_

_Those strong arms….  What else could he do?  Oh Yavanna, he was kissing him just now..._

“Please don’t back away.”

“Do not… do not come closer!”  Bilbo put up one hands in front of him.  His other hand clenched at his head, pulling his hair.  

_What happened!  What Happened?_

And then he remembered.  

_Hamfast dropping him off at Drakland Mountain._

“Bilbo… you need to sit...”

_The snow was falling.  The sky was grey. There was a storm coming.  There was bloodshed in the distance._

“...  You don’t look well…”

_He was walking, along the familiar path to get foxgloves._

_He was rushing through bloodshed and the battlefield to get to… to get to whom?_

_The smell of that freshness of early snow.  And it mixed with that unpleasant copper taste._

“Bilbo, please…”

_The smell of that oppression of a pending doom of a war._

There was a pain exploding in his head.  

_A rock?   It must be a rock that struck him.  He was on a trail to get foxgloves. He was on the path to warn a pending ambush._

It was so cold.

_He was running.  No no.. he was searching. Grey. It was all grey.  No matter where he looked. Even in memory, snow should be white, right?  Why was it so grey._

One second Bilbo was shouting at the dwarf while fighting at his fragmented memories, the next second Bilbo felt the world tilted and spun.

_He was falling.  He was falling. On the trail.  On the ice. He was falling._

The dwarf reacted and shifted toward him with impossible speed.  His large hands thrust toward his shoulder…

And that triggered yet another fragment of memory.  Bilbo saw it. So clear. So sharp. He clenched his fists and endured it like a flower crushed under the wheel of a wagon.

It was the most gruesome, the most vile, and most dreadful memory of all.

_A pair of icy blue eyes, callous and dull._

_A pair of strong arms, pushing him against a wall._

Oh.. he couldn’t breath.

“Bilbo!”

And he fell.

Down, down below, into a bottomless pit of darkness that engulfed him full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the long LONG delay. I was overcame with stress in real life, but things are looking up a bit. I really do want to finish this story.. so I am really sorry if I am rushing things a bit in this chapter. But I figure I need to throw in some romance and some angst in it. This should just be 2 or 3 chapters more... when Dwalin's group reunites with Thorin. :) I am still keeping at Teen rating.. but if people thing I should upgrade due to the kissing.. let me know.... thanks for reading.


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